


Spiderweb

by aisarete



Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Ficlet, Guess! That! Mythos!, Literary References & Allusions, Slice of Life, Young Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 07:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8967688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aisarete/pseuds/aisarete
Summary: Eighteen-year-old Clopin is asked for a story.
Just a tiny slice of days gone by.





	

“Are you telling stories today, Clopin?” A young girl with braided hair looked up at him, blushing. A little boy, perhaps four, peeked out from behind her legs.

“Mais oui, ma petite cherie,” Clopin swept low in his signature bow, kissing the back of her hand to make her giggle. “What kind of story would you like to hear?”

“Oh no, not me!” She tried to look offended, but couldn’t stop her giggling. "My brother-“ she pushed him out in front of her, where he stared wide-eyed up at the teen ”-wanted to hear a story. I’m not staying; stories are for babies.“

She was very proud of her responsibility and Clopin smiled. The girl was old enough to begin thinking she was grown, but still just a little thing.

"Of course, cherie, what was I thinking!” He searched under his wagon and pulled out a spare lamp, lighting it. “You must leave him with me, then. But I would welcome the company of such a lovely young lady, if you would not mind listening to the story…”

“Well… I suppose I could stay a little while…” She seemed hesitant, wanting to stay but not wanting to seem childish. Clopin just moved right along, letting the girl know she was welcome.

“Perfect! What story would you like to hear?”

She sat down on a cushion and put her finger to her lip, tapping gently.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. Her brother climbed into her lap and she wrapped her arms around him like a stuffed toy. “What’s your favorite?”

Clopin thought a moment before dropping down to sit cross-legged beside them. His hands curled in odd shapes in front of the lamp and cast a shadow of a large spider creeping up the wall.

“We do not really mean,” he began, “we do not really mean that what we are about to say is true. A story, a story; let it come, let it go…”


End file.
